


Flowers and Sunshine and Sweet Delights

by marizousbooty



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Gen, Light Angst, Nature, gay shit, one shots, that might link up some day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-16 07:03:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19313074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marizousbooty/pseuds/marizousbooty
Summary: A host of small 500+ prompts filled for the servers Moomin June (Mune) focused mainly on Snufmin.Nature coexists with them.





	1. Soft

**Author's Note:**

> I wanna get done at least most of the month, or from here on out whatever sounds interesting but I'll do my best!  
> Sorry guys I Like Moomins Now Oops. UM Morning Glory is my summer project so that should be up by the end of the summer/early fall. I also have a couple Moomins fics im working on and these prompts are nice because it's giving me a feel for their characters. Please bear with me as I figure out how everyone works! I'm not done with the 1990 anime and I've only read half of The Great Flood and saw Moominvalley but as I Consume more media I can probably get a better taste of what I'm working with here.  
> right now im in con crunch mode so this first handful is from early june. as my sewing shit dwindles down and i have more idle periods while things dry im gonna try and work on more prompts!

The summer heat always melted away to a chill, the humidity sucked from the air leaving a dazed sleepiness Moominvalley was unsure of what to do with quite yet. After the excitement of the summer season, the drifting golden leaves and the greying skies felt surreal to the brilliant blue and burnt green they were so used to. 

Moomin could feel the chill in the morning, a brush of goosebumps through his still thinned summer coat and a breath of fog over the horizons. He was up earlier than usual, as he and Snufkin had promised to go fishing before first light that morning. The sun had yet to rise, but the steel sky warned of the approaching dawn. 

Snufkin was waiting for him at the bridge, a bucket in one paw and his fishing rod resting casually on his shoulder in the other. His eyes were focused on the ridge of mountains surrounding the valley, their deep shadows a looming figure just beyond their reach.

“Good morning, Snufkin,” Moomin greeted, his breath misting like the grass at his feet.

“Good morning, Moomintroll,” Snufkin tipped his hat. “Shall we get going?” 

They set off upstream, following the water that ran from the mountain and cut through Moominvalley. Snufkin had found a creek the day prior with a load of fish swimming about a little bit up the mountain slope, in which he straight away told Moomin about it as a new adventure for them. Their trek up to the mysterious creek teaming with life was peacefully quiet, the day too early to strike up any conversation as both were satisfied with the stillness of the morning. Songbirds were emerging from their burrows for their routine morning calls, the shrill chirps echoed through the forest as if magnified by the fog. Moomin could feel their song resonate in his bones.

The creek was lovely, tucked away from the main valley and with a perfect rock to perch upon while they fished without having to soak their bums up in the mud. The surface of the creek shivered with morning goers, the cool mist clinging to the crystal water as if afraid to dip its toes into the delicate surface. A waterfall trickled a stream into the little oasis, bouncing off rocks in a way it could probably make a rainbow on a sunny, cloudless day. 

Snufkin and Moomin squeezed atop the rock together and cast their lines, so close Moomin could smell the asters and woodbine crowning his hat. He did his best to ignore the soft fragrance, a perfume that did nothing to mask Snufkin’s natural odor of dirt, sweat, fish, and whatever he smoked. It wasn’t tobacco like Pappa did sometimes, something sweeter. 

“You’re soft,” Snufkin suddenly broke the silence. He reeled in a small fish, the scales shimmering in the weak, morning light, and tossed it back out to live another day. “You don’t have a winter coat now, yet you’re very soft already.”

Moomin felt the heat rise in his cheeks. “I wash my fur regularly. If it gets too gross I get itchy.”

Snufkin hummed in the back of the throat, his pipe, unlit, bobbing between his teeth. “It’s a good thing then.” He leaned a little closer and let the back of his paw brush against Moomin’s arm, hesitantly taking in the softness. 

Moomin then felt a slight tremor running through Snufkin, barely noticeable, but Moomin only noticed it because of their proximity. “Are you alright?” Moomin asked.

“To be honest, I’m a little cold,” Snufkin admitted. “It’s alright, nothing I can’t handle.”

He might be able to handle it, but Moomin couldn’t. “Come here,” he said. He reached an arm around Snufkin’s shoulders and pulled him closer to his soft, freshly conditioned fur. 

“There’s no need-” Snufkin started to protest, but cut off when Moomin pressed Snufkin’s chilled cheek to his warm shoulder. “Oh,” was all he said, his breath a cold puff across Moomin’s fur. 

“I have plenty of body heat to spare, and soon I’ll have more than enough fur to keep me warm,” Moomin said with a slight huff, the beginnings of a laugh.  

“Thank you, Moomintroll.” Snufkin shifted, still pressed close to Moomin’s side, but able to hold his fishing rod properly.

They sank into each other, the mist of the morning dissipating to the watery sun that tried it’s best to shine weakly through the autumn air, a last attempt before the winter cold moved in and took away her warmth, and Snufkin’s presence, in Moominvalley.


	2. Little My on Snufkin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt for favorite character and I couldn't decide

Little My found Snufkin to be a bit of an enigma. He was a little too relaxed for the situations they would get themselves into while off adventuring, but she swore she could  _ smell _ the panic on him. There was a simplicity to him in which it made him almost so simple it was complex- he refused anything that wasn’t exactly as he liked it and deemed anything more than the bare necessities as too much. Novelties weighed him down as he preferred the moment over anything physical, a foil to Sniff and his need for the best of everything. 

He was simple to the point of surpassing simplicity to pure pickiness, is what she thought. In all her years she’s known him she believed he’s only owned two pairs of pants. She didn’t even know there was a second, newer pair until he said so and pointed out how a  _ little  _ less worn down they were compared to the old pair.

The simplicity aside, the enigma lied with Moomintroll. He was the key to Snufkin and his mysterious nature as Moomintroll seemed to be the only one to crack his smooth shell of a facade. Snufkin also had a soft spot for Moominmamma, but literally, everyone who had ever stepped foot in Moominvalley did (Ms. Fillyjonk is up for debate). These two were the key to breaking down Snufkin’s oh so travel worn exterior to reveal who he truly was inside. 

And Little My was determined to crack the facade. 

At the moment, he and Moomintroll were in on some secret and she hated it. There was a sea salt taste on her lips, the bitterness sour on her tongue at the mere thought of her friends excluding her. She wasn’t crying over it, the stickling loneliness of being left in the dust because her voice was too loud and her legs were too short, no, she never found anything a good reason to cry over. 

Instead, she will complain and make their lives miserable until they fixed it. Sure, Sniff was alright until she wanted to do something exciting, then he would start loudly protesting until Little My urged him with a faux treasure. Snorkmaiden was nice and easy to play with, but she didn’t want to do anything besides exploring and digging for seashells or picking flowers.

Snufkin was the one who would lead most expeditions, and now he had whisked Moomintroll away to find their own buried treasure near every day this autumn season. 

The only thing she could think to do was trail them to see what secrets they're hiding, her small stature makes it easy to sneak around and hide. They strolled ahead along the leaf-strewn, golden path, unaware of the spy keeping close behind. 

Nothing got passed Snufkin. “Come on out, Little My, we know you’re there.”

“We do?” Moomintroll stage whispered. 

Little My  _ tsked _ and crawled out from under a bush. “Where are you two sneaking off too?” 

“We’re not sneaking off to anywhere, Little My,” Moomintroll protested. “It’s just a walk.” 

“A likely story! Take me with you if it’s not a secret.” 

“There’s nothing to it, really,” Snufkin explained. “It’s just a boring walk.” 

“That’s okay, we can make it an adventure.” 

They agreed, a little reluctantly, and allowed her to join them. It was boring, as they said, but Little My didn’t want to admit it was nice.

She could not get the answer to her questions so easily, but she figured invading Moomintroll’s and Snufkin’s secret would give her a glimpse of what she’s missing of Snufkin five hundred piece puzzle. 


	3. Flowers

Pappa dug out an old trunk he had buried in the basement, the clasps stiff with time and the varnish worn down to its muted wood. Inside were more books, all riddled with age and the corners cracked from so much love and attention. 

“These some of my books from when I was your age, Moomin,” Pappa explained. He pulled one from the top and dusted the cover, the title in riveting gold punctured across the sails of a ship in a stormy sea. “Why don’t you take a look and see if anything interests you or your friends?” 

“Is that really okay, Pappa?” Moomin asked. He pulled out a book with a worn down, olive green binding, the embossed title on the spine worn so smooth it was near impossible to read. 

“Well, of course, you may, all this is just sitting down here I clearly don’t need them. You may do as you please and the rest I bet some neighbors would love them. There are many tales within this box! Someone is bound to enjoy at least one of them.” 

A book with an ivory cover and stained with dust caught Moomin’s eye. The cover depicted a beautiful pink flower, the title declaring it was an encyclopedia for flowers. “Oh, what’s this? Snorkmaiden would love it.” 

“An old flower guide I got when I was briefly into botany. Maybe Mr. Hemulen would enjoy that, though I bet he knows a great deal more than some outdated flower book could teach him.” 

“To Snorkmaiden it shall go.” 

The day was storming, with dangerous claps of thunder and lightning that filled their vision with a field of white. Mamma decided this would be the perfect day to clear up the basement of any unnecessary things so she may have more space to store jam and her newest fancy, pickling. As it was too stormy to go out and pass around books, Moomin pulled book after book from the chest and made neat little piles up for all his friends. 

All except Snufkin. 

Moomin was in a conundrum. He sat on his bedroom floor in a ring of neatly stacked books (the tallest stack going to the Mymble’s Daughter) and eyed an empty spot of the floor where Snufkin’s pile would be. 

He would never want a book. To borrow, sure, but he refused gifts that weren’t useful in a sense he could eat or use it to survive. He appreciated it when his spoon broke from wear and Pappa whittled him a new one. A book would weigh him down, no matter how interesting the story man be. 

His eyes landed on the ivory flower encyclopedia at the bottom of Snorkmaiden’s stack. He pulled the book from the pile and situated himself at his desk and began to read. 

—-

The storm passed a day later, and Moomin had trouble getting himself out of bed due to staying up all night reading the flower encyclopedia cover to cover, the fur around his wrist smudged with ink and dust. He passed out the books first thing after breakfast, then tucking the flower encyclopedia under his arm he trekked to one of the more remote parts of the valley where flowers bloomed in meadows of perfumed rainbows thanks to Mr. Hemulen. 

He sat amongst the swaying tulips, their silken petals standing tall and regal were being heavily scrutinized by Moomin as he eyed the dainty flowers and the page to its illustration in the book. 

“Whatcha up to?” Little My popped out of a hydrangea bush, the pale blue petals caught in her hair. 

Moomin gasped and slammed the book shut in alarm, a flush warming his snout. “It’s none of your business, Little My. Now would you please leave me alone? I’m in the middle of something here.” 

“Oh no, if it’s none of my business then clearly it is my business,” she huffed and crawled closer, her red bun bobbing between the tulip stocks. “Spit it out, Moomintroll. I wanna know or else I’ll eat all of Moominmamma’s marmalade before you can have any.” 

“Mamma would never let you do that,” Moomin protested. 

“No one can make me do anything. Tell me or I’ll eat your snack stash, too.” 

“How do you- oh never mind. I’m trying to make a flower crown for Snufkin’s hat.” 

Little My quirked a brow, her devious green eyes glinted with her malevolent spirit. She stood to her full height, not impressively high, but she made up for it in gusto. “You make him flower crowns all the time for his hat. What’s so special- ah. I see.” She had leaned over to look at the book in his paws. Before Moomin could tighten his grip, Little My had snatched the book from him and bounded away with her cackling laughter. 

“No, Little My! Come back!” He scrambled after her. It wasn’t long until their chase ended spectacularly with Moomin face down in mulch and Little My on his backflipping through the book the size of her whole body. 

“Tulips… tulips… tulips… oh, here we go! ‘A declaration of love’,” she read out. “Moomintroll, a tulip isn’t a flower you can easily make into a wreath, the stem is all thick and hollow. Now, why don't you pick an easier flower to declare your undying love for Snufkin, like oh say, a red rose?” 

“That’s generic and- how do you know I love Snufkin?” 

“Everyone in Moominvalley knows you have a big fat crush on Snufkin, everyone but he knows at least,” Little My explained. “I recommend you be a little less cryptic about it and get him a bouquet of roses then sing him a love song, then maybe his own obliviousness will kick in and he’ll say that was a lovely performance thank you for the roses now how about we go fishing?” 

“I’m not trying to be… you know… obvious. I don’t,” Moomin hesitated. “I don’t want to scare him off.” 

“Trust me a flower crown made of tulips will if the song won’t. The stems will crack and bleed all over and his beloved hat with being covered in tulip blood,” she said nonchalantly as she idly flipped through the book.

“Do you have any other ideas for flowers or was it really going to be a daisy chain of broken tulips?” 

“Fine, I  _ won’t  _ do tulips. And, well.” 

—-

Moomin found Snufkin perched on the lower branches of a chestnut tree, his hat was tipped over his face as he lounged against the trunk for an afternoon nap. Moomin climbed up the tree, his arm looked through the wreath of flowers. Snufkin felt the tree shudder under Moomin’s weight and lifted the brim of his hat, eyes droopy from sleep but a small smile still graced his face.

“How do you do, Moomintroll?” Snufkin greeted. 

“Hullo, Snufkin.” Moomin pulled himself up into a branch next to Snufkin’s and held up the flower crown. “I’ve brought you a gift.” 

“An interesting choice of flowers,” Snufkin said with a small laugh. 

It was indeed a mess of flowers, as usually Moomin just picked whatever was nearby and the colors usually at least coordinated. This time it was a jumbled, disorganized wreath, but it had meaning. 

“I gave everyone books from the cellar today, but you don’t like owning books so I learned something from one of them and made you a wreath for your hat based on my learnings.” Moomin passed said wreath to Snufkin, who delicately took it and started turning it around in his paws, taking in the smallest forget-me-nots, to the largest roses. 

“Do tell me what did you learn,” Snufkin said. His eyes were hidden by the brim of his hat.

Moomin gulped, his heart danced a rhythm in his chest that matched the booming thunderstorm from the previous day. “Cosmos, the white ones with lots of long, thin petals, ‘joy in love and life’.” 

The smile on Snufkin’s face grew a tad wider. “I like the sound of that,” he said softly. 

“The yellow freesia, the ones that look like little cones, mean ‘trust and everlasting friendship’,” Moomin continued. 

The smile on Snufkin’s face grew so soft it made Moomin’s heartburn with a warmth that matched the softness of a rose’s petal.

He gulped but continued. “The purple pansy is- is to ‘think of me’. And the little blue forget-me-nots are to ‘not forget me’.” 

Snufkin’s breath caught in his throat. “Oh, Moomintroll…” 

“And the rose, the golden one, is.” It hurt to breathe. “I’ve ‘fallen in love’. The red roses are… ‘I love you, Snufkin’.” 

He said it. He finally said it and now he needs to leave before Snufkin said he needs to leave and never return. 

Snufkin gently placed the wreath atop his hat. When he looked up, his eyes were full of words Moomin didn’t know the language of and his mouth started to open, as if to translate them. 

“I need to go,” Moomin said before Snufkin could say those words. 

“Moomintroll, wait. I-“ Snufkin started to reach for him. Moomin dodged out of the way and hopped down from the low branch and hit the ground running. 

He didn’t dare look back. 


	4. Garden

The Moomins owned a house so large it could fit a whole village comfortably within its walls, the garden so vast even Moominmamma herself didn’t know the exact square footage of the property. Moominpappa had gotten substantial money from his writings, especially the memoirs. He earned money by the boatloads from people clamoring for more of his work, more of his worded art and delicate imagery that pulled the heartstrings in just the right tune. Moominmamma was proud of her husband, and even more proud of the lovely estate they ran. The house was lovely, a bit messy despite the servants they paid to help keep the place tidy, it was always a little askew, a little dusty, and very much homely. 

The estate was so grand, people were constantly coming in and out of the doors- for a good meal, a conversation, a little company, or just a place to stay a bit. Everyone knew the Moomins had plenty of room to share and were more than willing to let someone stay as long as they pleased. If they had harbored a criminal or two, well, Moominmamma wasn’t a snitch now was she?

Of all the guests who have passed in and out of their entryway the one who’s stayed the longest and kept coming back was Snufkin. A vagabond who pitched his tent up for the spring and summer then left in the fall to travel south. He refused to stay on their property without earning his keep, and thus Moominmamma and Moominpappa let him tend to the garden for the sunshine seasons and in the fall, he took care to prepare the garden for the snow before disappearing for a few months. He was the only one who ever tended to the garden, besides Moominmamma, and somehow managed to take care of every inch of space in his own wild way.

That is to say, he would keep the plants alive and thriving and let them grow as naturally as they wanted to. Sometimes Moominmamma would have to beg him to please prune the wild sweet peas from growing over the path. Despite that, he was a hard worker who kept the garden thriving as wildly as it pleased. 

Wisteria dripped from the hanging arches that lined the cobblestoned path in a drapery of purple, the sweet-smelling purple drip drops of flowers fell into one’s fur in the height of spring. Roses took every color possible wherever it so pleased, the most stunning was the large, pale pink ones Snufkin had planted near Moominpappa’s office which bloomed right outside his window as his own little show. Honeysuckle and star jasmine crept up the side of the house and low fences low as they were nothing more than a space to give flowers to grow. They had gates and archways all over the property perimeter for anyone to stroll in and admire the garden or have a cup of tea with the Moomins. Hollyhocks took to the sky, larkspur, lobelias, bachelor’s buttons, tulips, and so many nameless flowers of every shape, size, and color bloomed their delicate fragrance and filled the manor with its tender touch when the windows were thrown wide open. A weeping willow bent over a pond, where a gazebo sat on the other side for afternoon tea when the days were just right, pansies, impatiens, gerbera daisies, and amaryllis cupped the white gazebo. Trees grew tall and small, blooming the smallest flowers to the largest, sweetest fruit and sometimes nothing but its seeds to blow away in the sweet breeze. 

In the summer, the flowers didn’t stop, they simply changed to new flowers that enjoyed the warmer climate. Sunflowers chased the sun every day, lilies fo the Nile’s hands bloomed in bursts of long leaves and sturdy stocks. Cosmos, golden poppies, zinnias, petunias, and marigolds sprouted as they pleased, the black-eyed Susans gave the windows a warmer glow when the afternoon sun hit them just right. Bushes of lavender and astilbe waved their long stems at anyone who walked by, dahlias took on every color it could choose, it’s sweet, pom-poms growing large under Snufkin’s care and Moominmamma’s love. Of her favorite flowers, besides the roses that grew nearly all year round, the peonies took a close second in her heart with no petal looking like the next and delicate scent reminded Moominmamma of her marriage with Moominpappa, their wedding filled with these flowers in pinks and whites. 

During the autumn things still bloomed but struggled to do so under the shuddering reds and golds of the dying trees and the raining needles that buried their petals. Snufkin took charge in turning the soil so the flowers may die in their mulch graves and be reborn again for the next year, dead vines are trimmed back and the remnants of the wisteria are plucked and put back into the earth. Then, once the garden is freshly buried, Snufkin packs up his tent he pitched in a patch of nasturtiums (or where they used to be by that point) and leaves to travel south for the late fall and the rest of winter. 

Now, even though the garden is hers, she did not know every nook and cranny, every secret it held under every camellia bud and between each bunch of lilacs. Those secrets were kept by Snufkin and the only person he cared to share them were with her son, Moomintroll. A spry young boy, that one was, with wide blue eyes like bluebell flowers and a smile that put the sunniest day to shame. The two would run off in the morning and return by dinner with leaves in their fur and grass stains on their knees. 

She had always wondered what they were up to, but never would she even dream of invading her son’s and his friend’s privacy to sate her curiosity. There is no reason for her to be breathing down their necks, she figured, she would much rather live with the idle wondering.

Suppose her questions were answered when she was wandering down one of the winding paths to a bench she adored, where the roses bloomed so brilliantly it was as if she was in a bath of their fragrance. The paths always changed, as Snufkin shifted the stones around each year to accommodate wherever the flowers decided to grow. There are plenty of dead ends and forks in the road to get anyone turned around, but the Moomins enjoyed the adventure. 

With a cup of lemonade in her hand and a book she found interesting in Moominpappa’s library, she passed by the wall of hydrangeas, so tall and wide her ears barely cleared the top. They rose and fell as they seemed fit and was one of Little My’s favorite place to hide as the leaves her so wide and the branches so sturdy she could crawl around like it was her own jungle. 

A whisper and a giggle broke through the spring air, not quite as devious sounding as Little My’s scheming laugh. A rustle from beyond the purple hydrangeas sparked Moominmamma’s curiosity to lean over and check between the leaves and fragrant bustles of flowers. 

Hidden amongst the bush were Moomintroll and Snufkin, crouching in the mud with their backs to Moominmamma examining something at their feet. Grass and mud-stained Moomintroll’s navy shorts, his back was scraped with dirt and there was a twig stuck to one of his suspenders, a stray pink petal sat atop his head. Snufkin next to him was as dirty as always, his trousers already the color of the earth and his shirt was bleached from the sun, the worn gardening gloves tucked away in his back pocket and boots were scrapped with dried mud. His hat which kept the sun and rain off his face was adorned with a crown of flowers from the garden, a gift most likely given by Moomintroll. They spoke quietly together, their shoulders touching.

When they leaned in close, the brim of Snufkin’s hat hiding their faces, Moominmamma pulled away and powerwalked as fast as she could to her spot. 

“There was no need to share that secret with me, my garden,” she whispered. “It’s their secret to keep, and they may share their secrets as they please.”


	5. Discover

A light tapping woke Moomintroll from a dream where the clouds were pale pink and the horizon was a gold so bright it burned his eyes. It was pleasant and warm, unlike the current end of summer heat that’s been permeating through Moominvalley. 

He rolled from his bed at the tapping sound that was broken only by long pauses, residual sleep made him groggy. Below Moomintroll’s window was Snufkin with a pebble he tossed up and down as if about to throw it. Too late, as Moomintroll opened the window Snufkin threw the pebble up to the pane and hit Moomintroll’s snout. He hissed quietly and rubbed the sore spot. Snufkin bit back a smile and waved a quiet apology.

Snufkin didn’t speak in fear of waking his parents. He motioned his arm for him to come down. Moomintroll tossed down his rope ladder and cautiously climbed down as Snufkin held the bottom ring so it won’t hit the house. 

“What’s going on, Snufkin?” Moomintroll asked when he reached the bottom, keeping his voice pitched low in case some very little ears heard. The clock on his nightstand had read a little past midnight, but it wasn’t odd for Snufkin to make a midnight visit.

Moonlight glinted off Snufkin’s eyes, the moon so full it was as if she was wide awake in the sky and stared down at them with her searchlight gaze. “I want to show you something. It’s best to go on a night like this.” 

Snufkin led them into the forest and up a rocky path, the silvery light of the moon making it easy to navigate. Neither spoke, and that was alright. It was a long walk up the slope and they didn’t mind the time it took. Summer had left the air warm even in the dead of the night, the heat has not quite gone from the soil and the wind was cooled from the nearby ocean surface. 

“Is it far?” Moomintroll asked.

“Not far from here, don’t worry,” Snufkin said.

The trek took them up a winding path where the trail was teetering off the edge of a cliff, the trees were their only barricades from slipping totally to their deaths. From where they walked, Moominvalley sprawled out below them, moonlight glinting off rooftops and the shimmering river that cut through the grassy knolls. 

Snufkin suddenly cut off the path and climbed up the steep hillside, his body tilting forward to hold himself steady on the slope. Moomintroll followed suit, the ground uneven and loose under their feet. The foliage grew thicker, the branches hung low to grab at their fur and clothes, the narrow trail all but disappeared in the brush. The undergrowth grew into a solid wall of greenery, their way in and out obstructed with plants lit with silver.

“It’s here,” Snufkin said, his voice quiet in the forest so large it must have ears. He parted the branches and the sight beyond their nook took Moomintroll’s breath away.

It was a pond, the water crystal clear and glowing in the full moonlight, where she was reflected as a mirror image. Stars rippled under its surface and Moomintroll realized they were fish- silvery, iridescent fish that glowed faintly in the shadows of rocks and the wisps of plants trailing the surface like a lover’s caress. A weeping willow cried it’s tendril branches a delicate dance over the pond where they parted to let the moon shine through. During the day, Moonintroll thought, the sun must send diamonds glittering across its surface. 

Angel trumpets spiraled and dripped from branches overheads, the white petals glowing faintly as if they were lanterns for fairies, for them. The pinwheel moonflowers illuminated their feet with their soft light and even softer fragrance. There was no candle for them to bear and they did not need one as the pond was drenched in light from the moon and flowers like a silver afternoon.

“It’s beautiful, Snufkin,” Moomintroll sighed. He ducked under an angel trumpet and stepped over the spaded leaves curling over the ground. 

“I discovered this place a few days ago when the moon was gibbous and I knew I needed to take you here when there was a full moon for us to enjoy.” Snufkin knelt down to the bank of the pond and traced the surface of the water. The iridescent fish with graceful funs and shimmering sides swam up and pecked at his paw. 

Moomintroll turned slowly, taking in his surroundings. A splash shook him from his stupor and he whipped around to find a pile of Snufkin’s clothes at the bank and Snufkin’s head bobbing in the pond made of mercury.

“Join me, Moomintroll! It’s lovely in here,” Snufkin called. Moomintroll grinned and didn’t hesitate to do a cannonball right next to Snufkin, breaking the peaceful air of their secret oasis. 


	6. Warmth

Moominvalley in the winter was not pleasant for its usual locale. They would retreat into their warm beds and sleep away the cold until the first breath of spring breezed through the valley like a hot breakfast after a long nights rest. Too-Ticky was one of the few who remained awake and present as the cold didn’t bother her that much. In fact, she adored it. Her mother was the lady of the cold and she greeted the chill with a warm smile.

On most days it was generally welcomed. When the winter was deep and dark, the wind with a bite like a bear and a howl like a wolf, Too-Ticky felt a certain peace that only the winter could bring. A stillness would settle over the usually active valley teaming with an ambient life lived by the idle folk who craved for an adventure without leaving the comfort of their valley. It was as if someone lifted the tonearm of a record player playing the most invigorating tune and left the room in echoing silence. The valley was frozen in time, holding its breath for a peak of watery sunshine to break through the slate sky and melt away the ice for snowdrops to bloom at last. 

On some days, the cold was oppressing. Too-Ticky was a solitary creature and preferred and introverted lifestyle, like the resident vagabond. But it can hurt sometimes. The winter creeps were quiet companions, but sometimes the winter was too cold. The air was too sharp in her lungs as if an icy fire roared within her chest. The silence hurt. 

Time would blend together. It rarely happened, in which she would feel there was no hope the sparkling white land with the alabaster trees and diamond encrusted shores. Her decadent palace of frost was a wasteland of sleepiness that wasn’t at all like the pleasant dreamless sleep, but the confusing nonsensual ones of noise and shapes and light that left you reeling with a heaving breath by morning with no recollection as to why. 

The fire was nice. The golden warmth was like a hot brand to her bare face and melted the icicles in her lungs, relieved the frozen numbess of her fingers and toes. The snow had mood swings as to how it may welcome her- with gentle frost or sharp ice- but the hearth stabilized her. When the snow started to hurt, the warmth of her soup and the heat from her wiggling toes and fingers gave her a chance to breathe again. The cast iron stove in the bathhouse radiated so much heat, her whole cabin was alit with warmth and left her relaxed.

Winter in Moominvalley was long, the solitude aching sometimes, but the anchor of the fire kept her from slipping into an ice hole or stumbling into too-deep snow. Most of the winter was wonderful, a crystalline landscape that was all hers to do as she pleased with, but when the need for a warm hearth struck she knew to turn back around to warm her heart and nose back up before it was too late. 


	7. Autumn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hng longing

Three times Little My has tumbled out of an apple tree and into a crisp pile of leaves below. She ignored Moomin’s plea to  _ please  _ stop making a mess, she’s getting leaves into the apple baskets. His shouts were left unheard as she stumbled out of the leaf pile, a wild grin on her little face, and went straight for the rake to make a new pile. 

After her fifth or seventh fall, Moomin was losing track, she rolled out breathless and ignored her rake to climb back up the ladder and start picking apples. The leaves aren't crunchy anymore, she explained. It was no fun. Moomin considers this a silent victory and waited under the tree as she dropped apples down to the basket in his arms. 

They were sweet honeycrisp apples, the two-toned skin sunshine yellow dipped in the autumn air. Moomin might have snuck an apple for himself to eat and decided these would make a good snack now and a good dessert later. His forearms and paws were sticky with juice that had run down his arm, the almost sickly sweet scent wafted around him like a perfume he bathed in. His snout twitched at the strong smell, though it wasn’t unpleasant. 

“You guys grew so many apples this year, you ought to give some away or you’ll have so many you couldn’t possibly eat them before winter. They’ll get all rotten!” Little My yelled from her perch far above Moomin’s head. He craned his neck up to see her, an apple almost as big as her head already half-eaten in her little hands, juice dripping down her chin.

“Little My, you’re supposed to be passing those down to me,” Moomin said with a frown.

“But you didn’t answer me! What will you do with all these apples?”

“If you must know, Mamma will be making apple juice, apple pie, apple pancakes, apple turnovers, Dutch apple pie, apple doughnuts, apple butter, apple fritters-”

“So she  _ might  _ use all of them,” Little My interrupted Moomin’s list.

“Yes, probably,” Moomin nodded. “But I bet she wouldn’t mind us giving away a few.”

“I want some! These are delicious!” To prove her point, she took a large bite of her apple, juice spurting from it’s wounded side and down the front of her dress. 

“You may take some, of course. Make sure to share with your sister.” Moomin lowered the basket to the ground and scratched his chin in thought. “Sniff would want a few, of course. Mr. Hemulen, too. Perhaps even Ms. Fillyjonk and her kids. Snufkin-” He froze.

“Snufkin would want one or two, but maybe if he comes back before winter and we haven’t eaten all the apples yet!” Little My snickered, her cheeky laugh lost between the leaves.

Moomin felt himself droop, like the yellowing grass beneath his feet and the leaves that shivered and fell in shades of red and yellow to cover the forests in a thick carpet, an imitation of the snow that will soon blanket Moominvalley. Snufkin had left one day without warning, Moomin noticed when he couldn’t see his tent from his bedroom window. He will always be back, but it’s a matter of whether he will be back before the first snow or back by the first bloom. As autumn turned the valley from a lush green to warmed death, Moomin’s hopes of seeing him again this year dwindled to a frayed string.

“We can save him some.” Moomin’s eyes trailed down the knoll to the stream where Snufkin camped at, his firepit an ash burn on the autumn floor and mostly buried by yellowed leaves. “If he isn’t back before they go bad you can have them.”

Little My was quiet, not even the crunch of her apple made a sound. Moomin ripped his eyes from Snufkin’s abandoned camp and with a heavy sigh lifted the apple basket back up. “C’mon, Little My, we still have four more trees to pick.”

“You know, he wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye,” she said. She laid herself across a branch, arms pillowed under her head and boots kicking up behind her like a lazy cat watching her owner struggle fruitlessly to get her down from the tree. 

“He did, though.” He’s done it before and he’ll do it again. It would sting seeing him gone like that, as Snufkin would usually make an effort to warn Moomin sometimes the day before that he will be traveling for a short bit, or when the rainy season kicked in he would travel to higher ground to avoid the flooding. Sometimes he would leave without a word, then reappear again a week or two later with a small smile and a new story. 

Moomin gets it, he really does. Snufkin needed to get out. It would hit him with an overwhelming tidal wave that left Snufkin drowning in those autumn leaves as they filled his chest and head. The only way to clear it was to get  _ out.  _

“For the winter, he always says goodbye to you at least. If he will be back, maybe not,” said Little My. “Check, he might have left you the goodbye.”

He never did find the goodbye as the valley went to sleep.


	8. Snow

Moomin was unfamiliar with the ice and cold as he was very much used to sleeping away the chill and waking when the only cold left was under the moon’s shadow. It was strange, the sleeplessness, but over the years it’s become more of the norm for him to wake at least once for the winter ever since that one when he and Little My woke up halfway through and could not sleep for the rest of the season. Since that year the hibernation insomnia has not been nearly that bad. 

Sometimes Little My would join him and go on adventures. He’s grown more comfortable with the bed of snow blanketing Moominvalley over the years he’s been doing this, but he was still unaware of the true power of a winter storm until one year a blizzard hit the valley when he decided to rouse himself. Little My was staying with them this year again and was awake and sitting at the drawing room window, her feet tucked under her and head rested in her hands. 

“Do you think Too-Ticky is at the bathhouse right now?” Little My asked.

“Want to go check?” Moomin suggested. His stomach rumbled with hunger, a pain that had woken him originally.

Little My snickered. “Let’s eat some food Moominmamma stored and get going. I want some apple preserves she made.” She hopped down from the windowsill and skipped to the kitchen, Moomin trailing behind her. Mamma had set aside better food for them to eat instead of just raspberry jam since part of the reason she believed he got so sick after the first winter awake was from all the jam. There were some potatoes, dried fruits, nuts, jams and preservatives, and a couple of loaves of pumpernickel that still have some give to their surface and no mold on the crust. They ate like kings, ignoring the potatoes as neither of them would know how to cook them right, and dipped dried fruits and nuts into the raspberry jam and peanut butter between bites of the hardening bread slathered in apple preservatives. 

They soon set out through Moomin’s window, as the lower level was once again snowed in. A blast of cold air blew them back when Moomin finally pushed the windows open, Little My even stumbling into the wall. The bite was colder than Moomin has ever felt it, as the fat and fur on his body was not nearly enough for the downright freezing temperature. He quickly closed the window and turned to Little My, who was picked herself back up from the floor and shaking the snow from her hair.

“We need to bundle up, else we might freeze to death out there.” 

Moomins did not wear clothing often, pajamas and swimsuits and sometimes a fancy coat if the occasion called for it, but in no way did they have snow gear lying around as Moomins were always asleep when it snowed. They went to the spare bedroom where Mamma stored a lot of things she should get rid of but never has as things might come in handy again. There, they found a trapper cap that barely fit Moomin’s head and a thick sock that fit Little My’s just right. Moomin put on the thickest pair of pants that fit a little large but he tucked the ankles into his rainboots. Little My found a fur coat fit for a doll that and wrapped another long sock as a scarf around her neck. She showed off her look with a few twirls and a pose. Moomin laughed and pulled on his sweater and raincoat. He did a twirl in his yellow raincoat and bottlecap green pants with hearts patched on the knees and did a pose to mirror hers. 

They took the stairs back up to Moomin’s room and hesitantly opened the window again. The wind nipped at them, but it wasn’t a painful bite as it was earlier. Little My took the ladder first and Moomin closed his window most of the way so they may get back up but his room may stay a little warm. It was hard trekking through the snow, as Little My sat on Moomin’s head as he was tasked with swimming through the deep snow burying Moominvalley and took them up to the higher ground where they may walk. It took forever and Moomin was breathless long before the beach was even in sight. Little My could not walk on the ground as the snow went far above her head. Once she tried hopping down and she fell straight through the soft snow, the tip of her socked head barely visible. 

Too-Ticky wasn’t there when they got to the bathhouse, but they let themselves in regardless and warmed themselves by the fire. Even Moomin was shivering terribly, as the snow had worked through his clothes and left him damp and miserable. Little My was still wet from her unfortunate plunge in the ice, a grimace on her face kept her teeth from chattering too loudly. The cast-iron stove was warming the whole space and it took a little too long to feel their toes again. Neither wanted to go out and see if Too-Ticky was fishing nearby.

The wind picked up, pushing against the stained-glass windows as if threatening to let it in or else. The foundation squeaked and shuttered under the weight of the snow, white falling like a thick curtain and made it impossible to see more than a couple of feet out. The land was completely hidden in white, leaving them barred on an island of ice.

Too-Ticky came back about an hour after they got there, icicles hanging from her hair and snow caught in her eyelashes. Moomin didn’t even know she had eyelashes until he saw the ice melting off the pale blonde hairs. 

“Good afternoon, you two,” she greeted. She dusted the snow from her clothes and took off her hat to wring it out in a bucket by the door. “Terrible storm comin’ in. It’s the worst time for you two to be waking up and askin’ for an adventure.”

“I kind of wish I was asleep right now,” Moomin agreed. He didn’t realize it was still the afternoon, he thought night had fallen as the room was so dark. The clouds were just that thick.

“I wish I was snowboarding in this. I bet it would be fun with the wind blowing all over like this!” Little My jumped up, excitement bubbling in her little body.

“That’s a death wish.” Too-Ticky shook her head. “This is a blizzard, Little My, and a bad one at that. The winds are nothing like you’ve ever felt and the snow is like icy needles. It’s best to stay inside by the fire until it calms down.” Little My sank back to the ground with a  _ hrumf! _

With that, Too-Ticky made them stew with the fish she caught and dug out more blankets for them to sleep under. They stayed up telling ghost stories, in which Too-Ticky one for the scariest, and the wind cried like a backtrack to their warm bubble. It wouldn’t be another day until any of them could leave the bathhouse and by that time the snow had piled up to Moomin’s window, which made it a little easier to climb back in. Except snow dusted his bedroom from when he left the window a little bit open.


	9. Food

Momminmamma wasn’t upset at the least over Ms. Fillyjonk’s comment. Little My had said it once, and Pappa was a little too quick to agree with her, and partially out of spite she had gone out of her way to make the perfect cherry everything for them to remember they liked her pancakes just as they are, thank you very much.

It was Ms. Fillyjonk who put a needle in her heart and hammered it in with every syllable. 

“Your pancakes are fine enough, but they’re a little bland. Have you considered er, actual tea time snacks? You know, in the cities they have little finger sandwiches, scones with creams, and the tiniest pastries that are a work of art and all just for afternoon tea!” Ms. Fillyjonk took a dainty sip of tea from her porcelain cup, the blue stripe around the rim worn from years and years of afternoon tea. 

“We are not in the city,” Mamma pointed out.

“But sometimes it's better what they do in the city.”

Mamma didn’t show it, but after Ms. Fillyjonk left she was seething. She’ll show her tea time.

Grandmother’s book had a couple of recipes about scones with cream and tiny desserts, the sandwiches she figured she could make a normal one and cut up really tiny. She didn’t understand why they must be so small. Dinner wasn’t far from tea time, so it must be to not ruin their appetites?

Pancakes were always good, especially with syrup and a little fruit on the side.

Ms. Fillyjonk’s words still hurt her, though. This wasn’t spite running her fumes this time, but some pain and a wish to please her once again. It felt awful whenever Ms. Fillyjonk criticized her way of living and she felt she needed to bend over backward to impress her sophisticated neighbor as if this would make her a better person.

It wouldn’t, but seeing Ms. Fillyjonk happy might make her feel better, even if it meant sacrificing a bit of who she is to do it, then that’s fine. It’s what friends do. 

The treats were tiny, the sandwiches were barely a bite, and the scones were dry but Grandmother’s book said that’s what you have to do. She invited Ms. Fillyjonk for tea and she looked out over the spread on the veranda table.

“The food looks delicious, now all you need is a tier to hold them all up in a neat little tower and a fancy white tablecloth to cover the dirty table,” Ms. Fillyjonk pointed out. She took a sip from her tea and a bit from a little pastry. “Oh, they’re so fluffy and sweet! You did an excellent job at baking, all that’s left is the presentation. Have you heard of macarons?”

Mamma did not have a white table cloth, let alone a fancy one. She didn’t have a tower to display her treats, nor did she know what a macaron is. At this point, she didn’t want to push herself to do something to please her friend in such a mundane way. She never made tiny sandwiches or delicate pastries stacked neatly on a plate again, but every once in a while she would make some scones with a jam or cream to sweeten it up. Pappa liked them very much and Moomintroll loved to cover the whole thing in sweet cream before putting as much of it in his mouth as possible. A fancy tea party was too much work and quite frankly she was okay with having some fruit and tea on an afternoon day at a veranda, there was no need to ever dress herself or her plates up for that simple pleasure. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you! please comment and kudos!  
> main tumblr: canadiangothstalker  
> art tumblr: mirai-eats  
> twitter: mirai_eats


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